Time
by streco
Summary: And even as I sat on my deathbed, I did not know who I was. Mark could speak to me, whisper meaningful words in my ear and tell me I was his best friend, though I knew I was not. I was nothing but the shell of his previous best friend, if anything at all.


So… hey fellow RENTies. Sorry it's been so long. I watched RENT last night for the first time in a long time… and let me tell you, I really _listened _and _felt _and… understood in a way I haven't in quite some time. This idea came to me during One Song Glory / Light My Candle and it wouldn't get out of my head the whole time I was watching the movie.

Time

Her name was April.

Flaming orange hair erupted from her skull in dazzling waves, a feature that made her stand out in any crowd. She was herself, an individual, and she didn't care if you accepted it or not. Music was her entire soul, and performing was her life. She made mistakes—plenty of them—but found each one as something that made her grow, something that created her as a person.

Everything she did was unscripted, another simple act that defined her. Each time she smiled, any negative thoughts in my mind would quickly evaporate. Her soft touch sent shivers down my spine, and her lips upon mine was a feeling no words could do justice for. She was mine, eternally mine, and that was the pact we had.

Her name was Angel.

She was a person unafraid of what people thought of her—she was to be taken or left the way she was. Not in a hurry to change for people, but eager to change people for the better. She was sick of all the hate she always saw, and all the discrimination pointed in her direction.

Something Angel could never grasp was the fact that people don't allow people _to be _people. Everyone must be the same to be 'normal.' Angel's only dream was to make America a more accepting place. 'Freedom' didn't apply to her until everyone could be themselves without biased and unfair judgment.

Her name was Mimi.

Hands down, the happiest person I ever met. She never had a frown on her face, and never had hate in her heart. She didn't have the best past and hadn't made the best choices, but she tried to be an immaculate person regardless; the fact that she always seemed to know too much for her years added to that easily. She was as wise as someone three times her age. All she cared about was making herself happy, and attempting to bring others up with her. She had an ability to love anyone who gave her a reason to.

AIDS was always the last thing on Mimi's mind; in fact, there were times when even _I _forgot she was infected with the same death sentence as I was. Dancing in the rain was one of her favorite pastimes, though she always knew when to come in. Dancing in general, in fact, was something that I could watch Mimi do for days—the way she moved, so lithe, so graceful, and the way every single worry disappeared from her mind was captivating, just like the small girl herself.

His name was Thomas.

A man of a thousand words, and yet he could usually only get out one without his booming laughter interrupting. No matter what, every idea to ever leave his lips was intelligent and for the good of others. Philosophy might as well have been his middle name. A happy soul, though he was doomed to an early death as well, he was one of my best friends, a man I could always turn to in a time of need.

Anarchy wasn't a completely accurate way to say he believed in—he was more like Angel in that way. He simply thought that the government created what was to be expected, which did not include someone like him. A free country should be just that, free, right? No binding lines of society such as what you could believe, what you could do, who you could love.

His name was Roger.

But who am I now? Certainly not Roger. A man who was of many dimensions, with different thoughts and ideas, plans for a hopeful future, though he knew he was dead to begin with. He could love, and he learned to come out of the house and be one with the city that never slept.

He was a generally pleased person. He loved music, he loved his guitar. He loved his girlfriend. His best friend was always there for him, and he had a small family that was quite simply the reason for his existence.

But there's no way I can be Roger now… not after everything that's happened.

Who am _I_?

April died. Whoever was the original Roger Davis was slowly chipped away by her absence and heroin, the loneliness and altogether depression wearing him away.

When Benny demanded the rent, flipping our world upside down, Angel came into the picture, bringing happiness and hope along with courage so strong that it was almost frightening. How could someone with such a fatal disease be so eager to face each day ahead?

The family that had been so intricately weaved slowly started to tear at the seams—Angel died, and the then-Roger took off to Santa Fe. When he returned, Mimi was on the brink of death, returning only when he played her the song he'd written her. She lasted a miraculous month after that, then succumbing to HIV, the one thing that had always slipped her mind.

And even as I sat on my deathbed, I did not know who I was. Mark could speak to me, whisper meaningful words in my ear and tell me I was his best friend, though I knew I was not. I was nothing but the shell of his previous best friend, if anything at all. The jumbled words he murmured no longer made sense to this new being I was.

Time had run out for all of them, as it had for me, and Roger, so long ago. Mimi always told Roger that there was no such thing as regret, and that you should live each moment as your last. He did.

But what do you do when it _is _your last moment? Do you wait for death to take you, or do you live it as you did all the others? What if you can't? What if you don't know who you are anymore? What if everyone you loved, and everything you lived for, suddenly was gone?

Time ran out for Roger Davis. I wasn't sure if it could run out for me, but here I was, lying, gasping for breath, staring at the only people who mattered to me anymore—Mark, Maureen, and Joanne.

"Roger," Mark whispered.

"Who's he?" I rasped, and his eyebrows met.

"Roger? _You're _Roger."

"Roger died a while ago, Mark," I responded calmly.

With that thought on my mind, my eyes fluttered shut and encompassed me in a world of darkness. Confusion overwhelmed me first, but then relief, and hope.

Time ran out.

* * *

If you don't understand, here's the message this tells:

Roger feels as if he isn't Roger Davis anymore, he feels like that man died along with April, Angel, Collins and Mimi. He doesn't know who he is, and doesn't know how to go about his life. Then he dies at the end. ):

Watching RENT again made me notice how many funny fics there are, and how much I always make fun of Roger—but it made me realize that Roger is really a tortured guy, he went through so much.

I don't know. This doesn't exactly mean I'm back, it means that I'm still here. I never left, really. I just write what I want to when I want to. (:

I don't like the end, but I thought this was powerful.

Review. :D


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